


We Could Have A Chance

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: Fictober 2019 [22]
Category: A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia (1990), Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Beginnings, Fictober 2019, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: Fictober prompt: We could have a chance.T. E. Lawrence and Prince Feisal in the modern day royalty AU nobody asked for.





	We Could Have A Chance

Balls are unbelievably tedious. 

People, regular, average people, seem to think balls are fun: lots of good food, fancy cocktails, attractive people in nice clothes mingling, dancing and having fun. Oh no, the balls I have to attend are nothing like that. Of course there is food, drinks, music, pretty dresses, the lot. But the rest is hard work, maintaining good relationships with other countries, establishing new ones, meeting, greeting, being polite. 

My eldest brother, Abdullah, is enjoying himself but it doesn't take much to make him happy: a full glass and a group of pretty ladies giggling at his bad jokes is all he needs.

"I can't believe that man will one day be king." Ali, my second eldest brother, breathes in my ear.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." I whisper back. "This is neither the time nor the place."

Ali just laughs and saunters off towards the table where the guests from the British embassy are seated. 

They're an awkward bunch, the Brits. The ambassador looks like a rejected "Harry Potter" extra. His aide looks like she would much rather be elsewhere. She's called Antoinette, Claudette or something like that, Something-ette. Ali likes her and I can't blame him. She's well-educated, cultured, attractive and seems to reciprocate, if the way her face lights up when he approaches her is anything to go by.

The man sitting beside the aide stands up and offers Ali his chair. They chat briefly, then he walks away. He's endearingly small, closer in height to Abdullah than to me, and slightly built. He inspires protectiveness, that one.

"Who's the little man in the black suit who just left the British table?" I turn to my aide, Selim.

"The blond?" He asks, casting a quick glance at the room. 

"Yes."

"That's Mr Lawrence. Oxford Degree with honours, seven languages, including three dead ones."

"Does Mr Lawrence have a first name?" I scan the room in search of the man but he seems to have dissolved into thin air.

"Thomas Edward, goes by Ned." 

"What do we know about Mr Lawrence's personal life?"

"He doesn't seem to have one."

"Nonsense. Hold this." I hand Selim my empty glass. "I think I will go say hello to Mr Lawrence."

"Please behave yourself." 

"Oh, I'm on my best behaviour, it's my older brothers you should be worried about."

Selim just quirks an eyebrow at me but says nothing.

I find the elusive Mr Lawrence in the far end of palace garden, by the rose bushes. He's sitting on the grass, so fascinated by the flowers he doesn't even register my presence.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" I say, just to announce myself. 

"Your highness." He rises to his feet and bows. People tend to lose their cool around royals, they become nervous and extremely cautious not to offend us. Not Mr Lawrence. He's polite and perfectly calm, smiling lightly.

He has lovely blue eyes.

I might be in trouble.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" I repeat. "The flowers?"

"Oh yes, they sure are." Mr Lawrence looks away from me. "I like red. It's a nice lively colour."

"What else do you like?" Well played, genius. 

"Oranges. Dogs. Books, music, art." He blushes. "I like trains. But not in a creepy trainspotting way. I like travelling by train. I like motorcycles too. And camels."

"Can you ride?"

"Yes, I can. And properly, not like a tourist."

He's good-looking. He's funny.

I am sinking.

"You should come riding with me one day." I offer. "I own excellent racing camels."

"I'm sure I would be no match for you, your highness. I am told you are a very accomplished rider."

"You're too modest."

"Hmm?" He tilts his head, studying me, like he's not entirely sure what I mean. 

"I'm sure you're just as good as I am."

"That sounds like a challenge. And I do like a challenge."

"As do I."

"So I am told." He smiles. "I should go back, my boss will be looking for me."

"Of course." I nod. "And my offer still stands."

"Your highness." He bows, then heads off towards the palace.

I am definitely in trouble.

"Are you listening?" A harsh tap to my knee startles me.

"What?!"

"Are you even listening?" Selim repeats. "How was Mr Lawrence?"

"He can ride a camel." I reply. "Properly, as he put it, not like a tourist."

"Yes, apparently he learned to ride when he was working as an archaeologist in Syria."

"Interesting." I say. 

Ali sighs. "Please don't go buying him a golden Iphone."

"What am I, a Saudi?! Send Mr Lawrence a small basket of oranges. Actually make it a weekly order."

"Please be discreet and try not to cause a scandal." Selim groans as he makes a note on his phone. "Your brothers have caused me enough grief already. I don't need you adding to that."

"I will be careful." I vow.

Mr Lawrence is a creature of habit. He leaves his flat at 7 AM and walks to work. He finishes at 3:30 and walks back home, usually making a small detour into the souk to do his shopping. On weekends he goes to a museum or an art gallery. He has a preference for Greek and Roman art. He doesn't drink or party. He lives a quiet life.

I've ordered one of my security guards to keep an eye on him. Is it creepy? I guess it is. But how else am I supposed to make sure he's safe and find out more about him? I have very little privacy, I can't go anywhere without a massive security detail and packs of reporters following my every move.

Our lives are vastly different, so are our backgrounds but that doesn't mean we don't have a chance, does it now? Princes around the world have married actresses, divorcees, their university classmates. I'm not even asking for marriage, I'm asking for love. Surely that's not too much to ask for!

I never believed in love at first sight or first encounter, if you will. Not until I met Thomas Edward Lawrence at least.

I admit it, I am smitten, well and truly. Head over heels, arse over teakettle. Absolutely, totally, completely.

I've not seen him for weeks now, not since the ball. I miss him. I want to see him, talk to him. I've been thinking about him a lot. Is he happy? Is he tired? What book is he reading now? Is he pleased with the oranges I send him? What would it be like to feed him a slice? Would he grip it with his teeth and pull it out of my hand? Or would he let my fingers slip into his little mouth, placing the orange inside, then pulling out slowly, grazing his lip on the way?

I have to see him. I have to or I will lose my mind!

I must admit, Mr Lawrence was not lying when he said he didn't ride like a tourist. Oh no, Mr Lawrence rides like he was born in the saddle. He knows the commands, he knows how to use a riding crop, He knows the correct way to mount.

He rides like the devil too, pushing the camel to her utmost limit, overtaking me in almost no time. I consider allowing him to win just for the pleasure of seeing him smile but I don't think he would appreciate that, he did say he likes a challenge. 

We've already passed the palm tree we'd selected as the finishing line for our little race but he's not stopping. He glances at me over his shoulder, smiles and takes off before I can even smile back.

You naughty little thing! This isn't a race anymore, it's a chase, a conquest. And it's incredibly good fun.

"I'd tag you!" I call out as I catch up with him. "But I don't want to hurt you!"

"I could always dismount!"

You wouldn't, I think. But he does, he dismounts and runs off, laughing. I have the advantage of longer legs so I catch up with him easily and tackle him to the sand. He doesn't stop laughing, not even when we hit the ground. He looks up at me over his shoulder, flushed, breathing heavily, his eyes sparkling with mirth and pure happiness.

"Alright, I surrender." He taps the sand like a wrestler forfeiting a fight. "Name your prize."

"I have everything I could possibly want." I tighten my hold on him just a little bit, just a fraction. "Right here."

"Oh!" His smile falters. "Oh my! But... I... I'm hardly..."

"Hardly what? Hardly worthy? That's nonsense."

"But you are a prince and I... I am nobody, just a bookish little nerd..."

"Do you really think that matters? We could have a chance, you know. This isn't the 18th century when the lives of royals were governed by politics, duties and obligations. I am just as free to choose as you are."

"I have no desire to be a plaything."

"And I have no desire to make you one. I'm serious, we could have a chance." I take his hand in mine and kiss it lightly. "I am willing if you are."

He smiles, that smile brighter, more radiant than anything I'd ever seen. "We could have a chance."


End file.
